


The Reason Why

by Bethy1416



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/M, drunk fletch, drunk jac, the reason jac stayed, they're not that drunk I guess, vinyl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 20:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13795827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethy1416/pseuds/Bethy1416
Summary: What happens when Jac is persuaded to join Fletch in Albie's? Truths come out and important conversations are had...





	The Reason Why

**Author's Note:**

> It’s with thanks to Ali that I managed to get out of my writer’s dither! Thank you Ali, I love this prompt and I hope I did it justice :)  
> Also, I think I’m going to be writing more oneshots so my question to you all is:  
> would you prefer I post them as individual works or post them as chapters in one work (a collection of oneshots)? Let me know!

He signals to the barman for another round and then thrums his fingers against the counter as he waits. Albie’s isn’t particularly busy for a Thursday night, but their weekend starts here and it was the promise of an empty pub that convinced Jac to accept his invite in the first place. Thinking back over the conversation that had taken place in her office earlier that day, he turns his head to watch her at their secluded table from across the room. It had taken a drink before she was even willing to remove her jacket, but now she’s sat scrolling through her phone, one arm casually leaning on the arm of the tub chair. They’d come straight from their shifts and he no longer doubts the magic of alcohol when it can conquer the tensions of the ice queen herself. Saying she’d been rigid with stress would be putting it lightly, he only hopes the locum nurse she’d threatened to have fired can understand.

An eruption of laughter from a group at the bar brings him back to the present and he digs into his pocket for the fiver he knows he’d shoved in there earlier, but comes up empty. He pats his hands over the various pockets on his being, but again, nothing. He squints as he recollects the number of drinks they’ve had, counting on his fingers. There is no fiver because it was used two rounds ago. He digs into the inside pocket of his suit vest to retrieve his card and hands it to the barman when he returns with their drinks. Once payment is settled, Fletch takes the glasses into each hand and practically waltzes back to their table. She rolls her eyes as he makes a show of handing her her drink before setting his own down and falling into the padding of his chair. 

 

It’s when they’re about halfway through their respective drinks that he notices his vision lagging a bit and the uncharacteristic giggles that tumble off the redhead’s tongue. For a brief moment that stretches through a strange slowing of time, that sound alone creates a warmth in him which makes his head swim. Something about her bubbling laughter has the same effect on him as a stone skimming a lake. Each pocket of mirth that leaves her lips is only punctuated by a softness rippling across his chest, awakening something that he can’t put his finger on.

“You know,” Jac suddenly exclaims, adjusting the volume of her voice when it comes out louder than expected. He clears his throat and physically has to make his eyes focus on her after his reverie. 

“What’s that?”

She leans over the table, her gaze boring into his for what feels like an aeon before she finally talks again. “I stole your vinla…  _ vinyl _ ,” she whispers, correcting herself. 

“You… what?”

“Yep. Was me. Collection was complete, but I took one.” She smirks, but his frown only deepens.

“Why would you do that?” 

“ _ Because _ you were… weren’t done.”

“Okay, Jac, focus,” he states. Somehow this news has sobered him enough for him to be able to string together a vague collection of interactions with this infuriating redhead over the past few weeks. It’s not even the news that’s sobering, it’s the betrayal. “I wasn’t done with  _ what?  _ Why would you send me on a wild goose chase like that?”

The trace of anger in his tone has her leaning back from the table and sitting rigidly… it appears that the sobriety is catching.

“You needed a distraction, and a way to grieve, and it felt like a good idea at the time,” she babbles. He’s not too inebriated to note that for once, Jac at least seems to display some form of guilt. “I’m sorry, okay? I was going to give it back but… well, it’s sorted now, isn’t it?”

“But what, Jac? What was so pressing that you couldn’t have just handed it back?”

“It got scratched. A bit. That’s why I bought a new one…”

Something tells him that this isn’t the truth, there’s something off about the entire thing. “How am I meant to believe you after you’ve lied to me everyday for weeks?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Fletcher. You’ve got your vinyl. It’s a happy ending.”

The flame of anger in him wants to spit out that none of this is a happy ending when his best friend’s dead and the closest relationship he’s had with anyone since Raf’s death has been based off lies for the past month. But he’s not that cruel. He can see the concern on her face, beneath the stoic cracked facade that her intoxicated brain is struggling to maintain. 

He sighs and leans on the table, shrinking the harsh distance between them. “I just want to know why,” he encourages gently.

Her eyes stay trained on his until they dart away anxiously. “I’ve told you.”

He offers a strained and saddened smile but says nothing more on that specific matter. “Can you now at least tell me why you stayed? Or is that information I’m still not allowed to be privy to?”

She stares at him, deadpan, not amused by his obvious attitude. “I’ve told you that, too.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What do you want from me, Fletcher?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly how I remember the conversation going, as well,” he comments sarcastically. 

She huffs and begins gathering her things. “I think my departure is long overdue.”

“You better not be driving.” She pauses in her movements, gritting her teeth at how infuriating this man is. “We may as well share a cab.”

“The point of my departure is to get away from you and your bloody inquisition.”

“Fine. No more questions. Does that tempt you to another?” He signals at their glasses.

“I don’t do questions, I don’t do personal and I most certainly don’t do grovelling. Does this mean the offer still stands?” She challenges, knowing that his motive behind keeping her here must be linked to one of these areas. 

“It still stands.”

She eyes him for a moment before sitting back down but, as she’d done when they’d arrived, she refuses to remove her coat. It takes a few minutes for either of them to speak again. Jac’s sat back in her chair, posture defensive and closed off, nursing her glass as he drains his own.

“I understand why you did it. I think,” he murmurs.

“Yet again, Fletch, you amaze me with your ability to obey. Did I not just say that I don’t want to talk about it?” 

“I know, I know. I’m just saying, you’re forgiven.”

She’s not sure what it is that makes her do it, any other time she’d have walked out ten minutes ago, but she digs into her bag and retrieves her purse. She slides her card across the table and nods at his empty glass. “Contactless,” she informs, making it clear that there’s no way she’d trust him enough to provide her pin number. “It’s my round.” 

Similarly, any other time he’d have felt uncomfortable using someone’s card, paying with their money, but he offers a taught smile and pushes himself out of his chair, snapping the card up off the table on his way. 

When he returns, he pierces the tension with a pointless anecdote from his trip to the bar and she uses the dregs of energy she has reserved for futile tasks to respond in jest. Neither of them want to stay stuck in the mud of their silly dispute. 

 

After downing half the contents of their refilled glasses, the previous sombreness and sobriety are drowned out by the alcohol. 

“The plan was not to get drunk with the DON,” Jac comments, lightheartedly. 

“What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“People will start talking, Ms Naylor.”

“People already  _ are _ .”

“What?” He asks, incredulously. 

“Oh you must have heard the murmuring and snickering,” she drawls, select words slurring together a little. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He shuffles his chair around the table so that he’s beside her and looks so amused as he waits for her to share this information.

“There are rumours all over the hospital. I may seem unaware but I’m not deaf nor blind. I hear voices turn to whispers as either of us enter a room, I see the way they all peek into the office whenever you’re  there. They think we’re going at it or something,” she says, a muffled and bewildered chuckle punctuating the end of her comment.

“No way. Why would they think that? It’s impossible for men and women to be friends nowadays.” He grins along with her. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

It’s halfway through her sentence that Fletch’s face suddenly drops and he turns to face her with startled eyes. “Raf. I walked into the locker room and he was telling Essie about a new ward romance. That was us. He thought we…” He trails off, unsure what to do with this new information. He’s too confused and overthinking to notice the change in Jac. 

She studies him before taking a swig from her glass. Raf had known. Back then, Raf had seen them together and knew there was something before even she did. The thing that frightens her most is that nobody understands Fletch the way Raf did, that was public knowledge. Raf wouldn’t just spread rumours about him, he’d have based his beliefs off something, he’d have needed some sort of indication for this seemingly wild speculation to even cross his mind. She turns back to Fletch, her eyes searching for something that she can’t put her finger on, but finds him already gazing at her. She can’t tell what emotion it is on his face, but she feels that it mirrors her own rather accurately. 

“I do think I’m going to go, now,” she whispers, her voice breaking at his close proximity. She can feel the warmth of his legs near hers. 

“Yeah, okay.”

They both linger on the verge of bringing up sharing a taxi again, but that opens up possibilities that they’re not yet ready to confront. She reaches for her bag that’s on the floor just as he reaches out for his glass, resulting in Jac’s ducked head briefly resting on his arm. The atmosphere is sizzling and it leaves them antsy, so the sudden contact has them both springing apart and avoiding each other’s eyes. “Do you, uh… want me to walk you out?” 

“Think I’ll survive,” she states.

“Right.” He huffs out an anxious chuckle. 

“Are you staying or…”

“I’ll just finish this and then I’ll get going too.” He motions to his glass but awkwardly grimaces as they both notice that there’s barely a mouthful left.

“Oh, well, you know, you said about sharing a cab, I mean it’s up to you…” She sighs angrily at herself,  _ pathetic woman, stumbling over your words because of a man!  _ she thinks. 

“Oh, yeah yeah,” he agrees, trying to pass as being calm and collected. He downs the last of his drink and slings his jacket over his shoulder before following her out of the pub, neither of them considering how suggestive it looks to the general public that the two of them are leaving together.

 

Once they’re outside and Fletch has donned his jacket, they decide it would be easiest to walk to the area of the hospital grounds where the taxis usually take residence, rather than wait for one to find them. It’s as they’re walking that their shoulders brush and every now and again their steps would have them bump into one another as the path narrows or the ground becomes uneven. They started off by awkwardly smiling or apologising, but eventually gave up; it didn’t make the situation any nicer to handle. The chilled night air works on sobering Jac up to a similar level as Fletch, who’d found the revelation regarding his late friend discussing his love life rather subduing. They still aren’t clear-headed, but it’s the subtle intoxication that allows Jac to stop in her path and have the courage and awareness to hold this conversation with him.

“Did I say something out of turn?” She asks. He stops a few feet from her and turns to face her in the darkness.

“No, not that I can think of.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I just think we’ve both had one too many. Can’t do it like we did in our youth.”

She nods, not convinced, but shoves her hands in her pockets and begins walking again. It’s not exactly how she’d thought the discussion would go, but she’s not going to be the one to challenge his reasoning. 

“Emma at Jonny’s tonight?” He asks after a few quiet moments.

“Yep. She’ll be back tomorrow morning so that I can have her for my days off.”

“That’ll be nice.”

“I hope so.”

They cross the empty visitors’ car park and both knowingly head towards the end of the canteen building to take a shortcut through to the makeshift taxi rank. The grass is damp beneath their shoes and the lack of lighting behind the building leaves them both treading carefully. Their shoulders barely break contact as they use one another as a way to remain upright in the darkness. It’s when Jac stumbles over the raised concrete surrounding a manhole cover that she reaches for him, and Fletch is there, grasping her hand to stop her fall. She grips onto his forearm as they cautiously make their way towards the light of the public path several metres away that’ll then take them to the taxis. 

“Tell me this,” he broaches. “Do  _ you _ know why you stayed?” He hears her sigh in response to the topic at hand, once again. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you know  _ I’ll  _ keep bringing it up if  _ you  _ keep shrugging it off.”

“Fine. Yes, I do.” She says it more out of impatience than with the intention to hurt him with the knowledge that she knows, she just doesn’t want to tell him.

“What about the vinyl?”

“I’ve already told you that.” They continue fumbling in the dark and it’s the silence that draws it out of her eventually. “You needed something to focus on, I provided it.” 

He wonders whether she knows the full extent of the various unintentional distractions she did provide.

“You have a strange way of getting people out from under your feet,” he chuckles.

“You were a pain, but an understandable one. Grief is something that cannot be predicted.”

“Well, thanks for helping me.”

“I’m glad I did.”

“I may not have seen it at first, but I understand your reasoning now.”

“Good.”

“Will you ever tell me why you stayed?”

She stops and the way that their arms are linked brings him to a stop as well. “I don’t understand why this bothers you so much?”

“It doesn’t!” If there was more light, he’d see the raised eyebrow and disbelieving look on her face before she tugs him in the direction of the lit path. “It hurt to know that I was around when you made the decision, I was there whilst you attempted to carry out your decision, and I am here in the aftermath of it, yet I never knew anything about it. Part of me wondered whether I’d upset you or whether our friendship was merely a way for you to tolerate me without the hassle.”

“Trust me, if I couldn’t stand you, you’d know.”

“We’d shared so much Jac, I just can’t understand why you didn’t share this.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Fletcher,” she says, matter-of-factly. “I didn’t realise it would bother you so much.”

“Well, now you know that it does, put my mind at rest and tell me.”

“I don’t give in to people’s persistence, I’d have thought you’d know that by now.”

“What is the problem?” He asks, his voice louder than she’d heard it in a while and impatience being a new flavour in his tone.

She tells herself that it’s to get him to shut up; that she’s fed up of his whining and interrogation; that this will answer his questions, but in reality it’ll only create more.  _ It’s the alcohol _ , but she is barely tipsy.  _ I’m tired and not thinking _ , well that’s true, but she’s most definitely thought about this and the outcomes plenty of times before.  _ I’m lonely _ , again, true, but loneliness doesn’t make her worry about him and care for him. Loneliness for her would be temporarily quenched by a night of meaningless passion with a person she can’t remember the name of. This isn’t loneliness. 

There’s a sharp exhale as the air is dislodged from his lungs when she pushes him against the wall of the canteen building. He barely has chance to draw for breath before her lips are on his and he’s drinking in the warmth of her body pressed against him as the night chill settles as frost on the grass. They’re not even a metre from the lit street and should he open his eyes, he’d find the soft glow of the streetlamp highlighting the shades of her hair and colouring her cheeks. Her hands are pressed across the juncture between his jaw and neck and he can feel the endearing way the pad of her forefinger strokes the soft lobe of his ear. It takes a few disorientated moments for him to acknowledge what’s happening, and only then does he dare move a hand to her side and nudge her closer. She gently caresses his lower lip with her tongue and the action feels familiar to him, as though they’d already done this a thousand times. It feels right. And suddenly the tension of the evening drops from their shoulders. The past few months of hiding the true extent of their care for one another is amplified and channelled into this moment. It’s not a drunken stupor that has them kissing pressed against a wall in the dim glow of the streetlight on a freezing cold night, they’re both very much aware of their actions and neither of them want to stop. It’s only when their lungs burn with the need for oxygen that they separate, lightly panting as the icy air hits the backs of their throats.

“Does that answer your question?” She asks, hesitantly allowing him to run the pad of his thumb across her knuckles.

“It makes things clearer. I think.” They smirk at one another in the hazy orange light. “I guess Raf wasn’t too far wrong, then. The rascal!” She anxiously smiles, for the first time in her life not knowing what to do or how to act or what to say. “Did you still want to share a cab or shall I bid you adieu?”

“It’s in the climate’s best interest that we share, wouldn’t want to unnecessarily add to our carbon footprint, would we?” 

“Absolutely not.”

 

It’s a miracle that she can get him out of the house in time for Emma’s arrival home the next day.


End file.
